Helen of Triste
by Zidovudine911
Summary: A Triste witch has a long history with and influence on the vampire world today.
1. Present Day Encounter with Risika

I don't own any of Amelia-Atwater Rhodes work. If I did, I wouldn't be writin fan fiction for free. If some characters are OOC or something in the story is wrong, I don't give a f. This is MY story. Deal with it.

Risika burst through the doors of Las Noches with a scowl on her face and a storm in her strut. She stalked across the dance floor and weaved her way through the dense crowd bumping and grinding on the dance floor. When she made her way around the bar, Kaei sidestepped out of her way as Risika muttered, "I need a drink." She grabbed a bottle of black liquid, yanked out the cork, and downed its contents. It was strong, and tasted bitter enough to make her reconsider another bottle. She was still thinking about last night's venture as she slumped into a stool in front of the bar. Only then did she notice Jager make his way towards her.

"Something on your mind?" he offered as a conversation starter. Risika only scoffed as she took another mouthful of…whatever she was drinking.

"I can't believe what happened to me last night," she muttered looking at the shattered mirror in front of her.

"Do tell," he motioned her to go on.

"You really want me to go into it?" she asked, looking him straight in the eyes. He nodded. "Alright," she sighed, "but I doubt you'll believe me." And with that, she began her long winded tale.

" I was hunting in the streets of Alexandria and immediately I spot this woman. Dressed in rags with knotted hair, she was gorgeous. Her hair was the color of blood but strangely, her skin was tanned. And her eyes, they were deep, clear, and blue." Risika had been confused by such contrasts in features that she thought didn't occur naturally.

"Sounds like you're in love," Jager commented suspiciously. Risika had to level her gaze for him to let her continue.

"Anyways, she kept wandering the streets alone just watching everything, the people, the empty market, the moon, the sand on the ground. It was peculiar." Risika squinted delving back into the memory. "I tried to enter her mind, to influence her, but all I found were mental shields against me, so I tried again, to break her shields. Again, nothing. Right then she look directly at me and stops walking."

"She was a witch," Jager stated the obvious.

"That's what I figured," Risika went on, "and I know witches' blood. Sweeter than anything I've tasted, better than Aubrey's. I attacked fast and hard, and she was in my grasp in just a moment. I should have known something was up when she didn't even put up a fight, but I was hungry." Risika shook her head, and took another drink, scowling again. "As I lowered my fangs down to her throat, she whispered 'please don't harm me, I beg you' and that only made me smile just as my fangs touched her skin." Risika's eyes darkened as she said, "Then everything was a blur because of the pain. Everything from my heart to my hair hurt so badly. It was excruciating. It was as if every bone in my body was breaking over and over again." Risika shook off the phantom pain she was reliving. Jager just listened with heightened interest. "I know now that she was the one who caused it, entering my mind and controlling me, but back then I could barely even think. All I could manage was to wish for the pain to stop. I don't know if I said it out loud or just with my thoughts, but as soon as I thought I was going to die from pain, her voice entered my mind. 'I will grant you the mercy you denied me, vampire, since you asked. But not again, you hear me?' All I remember was saying 'Yes' and the pain stopped as suddenly as it had come." Risika looked to Jager trying to read any expression he allowed on his face, which was impossible.

"So what happened?" he asked, curious. He knew after an experience like that, she might not have been here tonight.

"I just lay there on the ground and watched her walk away. When I could, I stood looking for my next prey. Human blood wouldn't be enough to sate me at that moment, or even help me heal. I attacked a vampire feeding on a beggar, and fed off of him."

"You seem to be running a pattern, Risika," Jager teased, referring to the fight with Aubrey. But Jager noticed that she was barely listening to him, just drinking her bottle dry. He wondered what kind of witch could do that to a vampire that could rival himself. Of course, he knew very well what she was describing. The witch had used her mental powers to enter Risika's mind and control her Chakra areas. He had seen it done, and heard it happenning to one of Kendra's line recently.

Risika had never been so open with him before, but he reasoned that he was probably the first vampire she'd met since the incident that she hadn't killed. He could see that she was done with her story for now, so he just sat next to her in companionable silence, both their minds occupied. Was the witch Triste, Vida, Arun? It would be quite an experience if he ever encountered her. His curiosity had been ignited, and with Jager, that never led to anything boring or uneventful. "So," he ventured, "what else do you know about this witch besides that she is exotically gorgeous and powerful?"

Risika glared death into his eyes for a few minutes as her only reply. She was not in the mood for annoying questions that she didn't have an answer for. The ever patient Jager only smirked in reply which he should have known would set her off. "Why do you ask Jager? Looking to add another Egyptian to your collection?" Risika's voice was drenched in sarcasm. Jager took only slight offense until he followed Risika's line of sight. Fala had appeared and was making her way towards them, in easy hearing range of Risika's words.

Fala propped herself up onto the bar and addressed Risika, "You're looking tense. Aubrey tie up another of your feline pets?"

"You'd know all about being a tied up pet, wouldn't you Fala?" And with that, Risika disappeared from Las Noches for the night. She was definitely not in the mood for anything Fala. Little did she know that the witch she had met held a long history and influence on her kind, one that only two vampires in the entire world knew the details of.


	2. Triste History

This is just the main character's background and a bunch of Triste history and traits I made up. It's very slow, but a bit shorter than the first chapter. Basically, Helena lives in an ancient land with ancient people and ancient, harsh customs and traditions.

Helena was born with features not unusual to her people. Her hair was the color of rose petals, a deep dark crimson. Her skin held the bronzed glow of most of her neighbors, but it was slightly lighter in shade. If it weren't, she would practically be as brown as the bark of the trees that surrounded the Eastern edge of her city. Her eyes were like two deep pools of sapphire, the color of the waking sky. But it wasn't Helena's beauty that caused her to radiate and stand out of a crowd. It was her aura, her magic, her blood. For as Helena would soon learn, she was not like other people. She was not human. She was immortal, born and raised. She had the strength of ten men, and magic to rival any descendant of Macht, the immortal mother of the mortal witches.

There were other creatures on earth stronger than humans and those that possessed magic in their very essence and even those with exceptionally strong mental abilities. She and her kind were also not the only immortals walking this earth, but the one trait that set her and her kind apart from all others, was their blood. It was poisonous to the most hated and feared creatures ever damned to exist; the vampires. That made her and her kind the most feared and hated in the vampire world. They were the perfect vampire killers.

As soon as Helena could walk, she was trained. After birth, she would not see her parents again for another twenty years at least. A Triste nurse and guardian took charge of her life. Neither love nor nurturing were known to her. While her nurse went to collect food, her guardian made her exercise, walking long distances for a child, building the endurance and muscle needed for fighting the beasts she was born to destroy. At night, when Helena would cry, her nurse would enter her mind and influence her to sleep. This was Helena's first exposure to the lack of free will available to her. Only when she was strong enough to repel her guardian's mental invasions and defeat him in training would she win her free will and title as a true predator. As with most Tristes, this did not occur until the middle to late teenage years. On average, Tristes stopped growing and maturing by their early twenties. From then on, few kept records on their age. They kept time by seasons: growing, harvesting, wet, and dry. They knew no snow or desert. Flood and drought were natural occurrences.

Helena grew and learned and lived a hard life. Her days were consumed by training and lessons and stories. She had to know her enemy's nature and history. She had to know how others of her kind had fallen to a vampire's grip. Tristes had human weaknesses that hindered them. Almost anything that would kill a human, from a broken neck to blood loss, would kill a Triste. Diseases did not affect them, but procreating did. Tristes could only give birth before their immortality set in. That gave them anywhere from ten to seven years to mate. Once more, female Tristes were born with only enough eggs for two children. Premature birth and miscarriages were devastating to their kind.

When Helena was three years old, she was prepared to be mated first with a young Triste from a neighboring village when she was able. He was two years her junior. The females were usually older than the males. Helena was prepared for the ritual, but there was no way for her to predict what would happen that night.


	3. A Young Struggling Helena

A cycle = 1 year

A season = about 3 months

Marika = Slavonic for "bitter"

Helena = Greek for "the light of the sun"

Athelstan = Old English for "a noble stone"

Helena shot up in bed as she whipped open her eyes. Her brow was beaded with sweat and her breathing was labored. She looked out her window and noticed from the light that it was just before dawn. She had been used to the view since the first few days she had moved into the bedroom when she had ten cycles and two seasons, or forty-two seasons. A true hunter adapted to her surroundings as quickly as possible. It was one of the many rules of life as a Triste. But one think Helena could not adapt to was her dreams. Tonight as she slept, she saw herself falling off of a cliff to a rocky demise below. As she fell, she couldn't breathe and the wind burned her skin. Right as she was about to collide with the jagged rocks, she awoke.

No sooner had she calmed her breathing when she felt tears spill out of her eyes. It was no use fighting them. They always came after a frightening dream. Even though she now had thirteen cycles, she still could not control her…what was the word? Feelings? She could block out her nurse Marika's mental invasions as well as her guardian Athelstan's, but she could not control what she felt and how she reacted to it. Sometimes, she wanted to cry for no reason.

When Marika or Athelstan invaded her mind, they saw this weakness in her and punished her for it. She hated how she could not keep secrets from them, not that she hadn't tried. Once, she had snuck out of her dwelling to visit members of the town in the midday. It was wonderful. Everything was so warm, physically from the sun and internally from the cheery, passionate auras. People argued over bartering rations and hunted mercifully for food. They killed what they could, but usually just what was necessary. Women wove and knitted with cloth and skins. Children her age ran around playing games that did not help them train for life or tasks. Mostly there were many children to every two parents. But the most amazing sight of all were the aged humans. Their skin sagged and made so many more creases when their faces moved and showed feelings. She hardly ever saw so many people who wore their age so obviously. They fascinated yet frightened her. The people she knew were so much older than these humans, but looked no older than the new mothers and fathers. But the people she knew felt so much older, more powerful, in their auras.

Of course she was caught and punished severely. She had tried to enter the minds of these "elderly" humans to see what they thought and felt. Did they fear death so near to them? Did they wish for immortality? Was humanity exciting? She forgot that such invasions could be felt by the human mind. The humans went into a frenzy claiming nonsense such as demons and spirits. Marika and Athelstan heard their cries and discovered her among the chaos. Helena was brought back to the dwelling and forced to train harder and more severely for many days until she promised to never disobey them like that again.

However, she did manage to keep from them the memory of the human boy she had seen. He was several years older than her and very good looking and playful. He had looked at Helena several times while playing with his friends. With every glance her heart fluttered and her face grew hot. Athelstan discovered the memory ten days later and was very upset but proud that she had managed to keep it from him for so long. It had been the first mark of her mental progress.

Helena had mastered the skill of defense around Athelstan, but lacked terribly at attacks. It was during her pathetic attempts to attack Athelstan in training that she lost the fight over and over again.

Helena rose out of bed that morning and prepared for training and lessons and stories. Athelstan claimed that she was the youngest of his students to master mental blocking so strongly. Helena was concerned though. Not afraid, concerned. She had learned not to fear anything: death, life, vampires, pain, nothing. She was concerned about herself physically. She had not yet showed the signs of fertility or come close to gaining her title of true predator and everyday she neared immortality. Marika constantly put her down for these that Helena was without. Marika was always this way with her: cruel and brusque.

Helena was always curious as to which would come first, her title or her fertility. Would it matter? These were the traits, curiosity and sensitivity, that Athelstan and Marika tried to stamp out of her daily. One day she hoped they would succeed.


	4. Helena Gains Her Title

If you think it's long-winded and goin nowhere, then I agree with you. But I don't care. I'm getting all these details in whether u like it or not! : 

Leandra = Latin for "lioness"

The room was dark and stunk heavily from the sweat and heat coming off of the two bodies in the room. Despite this, Helena knew every inch of her old dwelling from training in it every day of her life and living in it for the first ten cycles of it. However, this evening marked the longest she had ever been fighting one round of training against her guardian without losing. Her body was covered in scratches and stab wounds from Athelstan's knife. All day her body had bruised and healed from kicks, punches, and falling on the ground. She stood tense on the far side of the room while her guardian stood on the opposite side, resting for the first time that day. His own body held bloody wounds from this fight; it was obvious to both of them that this was no longer training. His wounds were in lesser number, but he was not used to such infirmities since before Helena was born. Now after she had lived sixteen cycles, he would not let her beat him without the threat of death waved in his face. He kept his eyes on his opponent at all times, never letting her out of his sight.

They had grown accustomed to each other's style of fighting and several times in the last two seasons she had come close to matching him in a fight, but never this close and she didn't seem to be wavering any time soon. She had that hungry look of a killer in her eyes that sent a chill through Athelstan because it was so similar to that of a vampire before she devoured her victim. He couldn't count the number of vampires he had killed in his lifetime, which was no small feat. At this point, this struggle was a test of endurance; who would outlast the other? Unless, something unexpected happened.

As if on cue, Helena lashed out her aura at him before he could duck out of the way. It was like a whip cracking on his bare chest and he fell back a few steps from the blow. Helena didn't waste a moment and continued her attack. She ran towards him lashing out her aura as much as she could. When she was ten paces from him, she dodged under his own mental attack and lunged for his gut. Her shoulder collided with his solar plexus and she slammed his back against the stone wall. He recovered fast and lifted his knee into her diaphragm, leaving her breathless. He took the advantage to wrestle out of her vice-like grip and lock her head in the crook of his arm. With his free hand he grabbed her arm and twisted it painfully behind her back. Before he could dislocate her shoulder, Helena threw a burst of power behind her, a move she had never performed before, and it collided with Athelstan's head. Before he knew what was happening, he fell back to the ground, his vision momentarily blurred, as she reversed their positions, and dislocated his shoulder. He yelled in pain but Helena didn't miss a heartbeat. She drew his knife from the ground, he hadn't known it had fallen, and thrust it fast towards his heart. She stopped it short just as it barely touched his skin, and twisted it to mimic obliterating the vampiric heart. Compared to his shoulder, the knife practically tickled. The move left behind a small red dot as its only mark.

"You're dead," she said in a low, breathy voice. To Athelstan's painful shock, he had lost a fight. She stepped back and waited for him to rise. She knew there was no argument. Helena had allowed neither her nurse nor her guardian to enter her mind in four cycles and tonight she proved that she possessed the skill to kill even another Triste in a fight.

Athelstan stood and moved over to the stone wall. She shoved his injured shoulder into it biting back a scream. He had to force himself to rotate his relocated shoulder and ignore the pain. Tomorrow it would be too stiff to use if he didn't. He noticed that Helena offered him no aid, and betrayed no emotion as to whether the pain she had caused him pleased or upset her. He had trained her well.

"Well?" she pressed. She wanted her title.

"MARIKA!" he yelled upstairs. Helena rolled her eyes in annoyance. She didn't see why Marika had to be the only Triste around to witness this statement. As Marika opened the door, the first burst of light that day flooded the room, causing Helena to squint. "Did you accidentally kill her, Athelstan?" Marika's voice was sickenly hopeful.

As soon as her feet touched the stone floor, Athelstan declared loudly, "Helena Leandra Triste, you are a true Triste by blood and prowess: a predator of evil and protector of good. From this day on, you are free from the care of your guardian and nurse." He had to take a staggered breath, his body was still recovering. "You are-"

"Wait, Athelstan," Marika sneered with a sadistic gleam in her eyes. "Helena has yet to mate. She is not yet free."

Helena's heart skipped a beat. This couldn't be true. She couldn't stay with either of them another day longer, not after she was guaranteed her title. It was inhumane. Athelstan looked Marika dead in the eye, and then looked intently into Helena's clear blue gaze. "Helena, you are free from this dwelling, from your guardian, and from your nurse. As is law, you are to procreate twice to continue our line." Helena smirked at Marika's downcast face. She shoved Marika out of her way as she ran outside of the house that had been her prison her entire life. She didn't care about her wounds or hunger. She was free, and that was greater that food or health. She walked to the lake in the woods that surrounded their city, no _her_ city. There was no longer a "they" just Helena. On the other side of the forest lay the village where her mate waited for her.

She scrounged up enough energy to wash her wounds and face clean. She felt out the area around her with her aura. She sensed animals, insects, the wind, the citizens of the city, and even Marika tending to Athelstan's wounds. She sensed no vampires or werewolves or shape shifters, even though she had only met a vampire once in her life. Marika had kidnapped it and brought it to Athelstan. She had been made to probe its mind and kill it. Both Tristes told her that this vampire was very weak, but to Helena he was a frightful sight and presence.

Helena lay down by the lakeside and drifted into a dreamless sleep. Fourteen days ago she had experienced her monthly fertility cycle, and she thought she was primed for mating.


	5. Jessica Begins to Write

Who is Siete's first and second fledgling? I'm just gonna say that the two humans he had turned against their will are gonna be his first two fledglings. His sister was his first and his second was a man named Vhannibal. Vhannibal's fourth fledgling was Rayasa.

Hannibal = Persian. Smart, harsh people were named it so just put a "V" in front of it.

Rayasa = Yiddish variation of "rose"

The harsh glow of a computer screen granted the only light in the dark bedroom behind the vampire club Las Noches. The low hum of the laptop was accompanied by the rapid tapping of keys as Jessica furiously wrote chapter after chapter of her newly inspired story. Dawn was approaching and Aubrey lay sleeping on the bed behind the author's writing desk.

Jessica had written manuscripts about the history of a few of Siete's fledlings: Kendra, Silver, and finally Jazzlyn. But never before had she been able to write a story full of such passionate sex and forbidden romance. She didn't know what was going to happen next, but she found that she couldn't wait. In all her two years in the vampire world she had never heard of this Leandra. Of course it would be impossible to change a Triste; both the vampire and witch would be poisoned by the new blood. But since both were immortal, there would be no need for the change. They could be together forever, couldn't they? She could still remember how she had started the novel.

_Siete had seen this dazzling beauty before, many times. He had been following her all over Greece, watching her every movement for the last two weeks._

She hunted and killed his fledglings as surely as he drained humans' blood every night. She was fierce when she stalked the young Rayasa and merciless as she killed her. She had strangled the sadistic vampire and torn out her still heart with her bare hands, blood dripping from her nails as if they were five fangs on the tips of her fingers. Rayasa fell to the ground like a rag doll, as he had seen so many of his own victims fall, dead. These witches were a threat to his kind, but she was the most bloodthirsty he had seen so far. She was going to be a formidable opponent and a beautiful corpse. He had seen his once friend and fledgling Vhannibal perish at the hands of a band of Tristes. He had seen as he lay sleeping. By the time Siete had found him, it was too late, but he had his vengeance. He knew this witch was not part of that group though. Not only did it occur half way across the world, but she was not a social creature. He had not once seen or heard of her associating with her own kind, just his own.

As she neared the edge of Athens, a middle aged blind man called out to her, "Milady, Milady. I have a message for you." She stopped to face him, but her face remained a concrete mask. Homer's senses were heightened enough to hear her footsteps cease. He was Siete's bloodbond after all. "It concerns the ones you murd- ah, hunt." Homer might be a little too loyal to complete this task. She didn't move, waiting for him to continue. 'A hollow statue,' the immortal mused. Homer held out to her animal hide the color of olive. She recognized it as human the moment she touched it. Upon it was tattooed the location of Siete's house. Homer drew closer to her, whispering ominously, "There is where you will find the first of the immortals. I," Homer looked over his shoulder and continued in a nearly inaudible whisper, "I do not speak his name." With that, Homer scampered off, back into the woods.

Before he had gotten too far she called outt o him, "You are his slave, yes? Neither human nor vampire." It was a more statement than a question. "What is this game you are playing?" Homer just cackled like a crazy old man as he left her to chaos of the night.

Siete was satisfied with his blood bond's performance. He vanished back to his home and into his bedroom. He had come to know her nature. She would arrive within three days time. He had already made arrangements for her arrival.

"Jessica, enough," Aubrey called from his waking slumber. "Come to bed." He patted the empty space next to him seductively. Jessica had been snapped out of her reveri and the thread of the story was lost. She would have to continue it tomorrow, or whenever the story came back to her.

"Damn you, Aubrey," she cursed under her breath frustrated.

"Too late," he muttered into her shoulder as he entwined his arms around her waist, pulling her into the bed with him. He kissed her bare, ivory neck affectionately, knowing full well she had already forgiven him a long time ago. She nibbled at his earlobe giggling at how much he reminded her of Siete in this story. In moments all clothes were on the floor, and no more sleep was gained until well after sunrise.


End file.
